


figures dancing gracefully across my memory

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [204]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Material Possessions, Nesting, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Pre-Canon, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a very long time, Natasha doesn’t have 'things.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: figures dancing gracefully across my memory  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: pre-canon through post-Avengers; implied bad things happening to children  
> Pairings: Natasha/Clint  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 450  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: MCU, Clint/Natasha, contrary to popular belief, he's the clean/neat one after the discipline of the military and she's the one who lives in organized chaos

For a very long time, Natasha doesn’t have 'things.' 

As a child, she has a small room which is truly a cleverly disguised cell, one set of clothes, fresh toiletries as needed (that she never chooses for herself), and a new file every week. (When she is not on missions, those files are how she counts.) 

When she burns her masters behind her, she chooses not to acquire ‘things’ because they are traceable. Because they are pointless. Because they are weight she can ill-afford to carry.

She has weapons and that is all. 

Until Clint Barton. 

.

Clint leaves little things in Natasha’s quarters: baubles he finds on missions, music he thinks she should try, books that she might enjoy. She stares at the baubles, listens to the music, and reads the books, and then – 

She keeps them all, hidden away in her quarters where they will be safe. When Clint finds himself a safehouse away from SHIELD, Natasha’s treasures slowly migrate there. (She does not trust SHIELD, of course not. She trusts herself. She trusts Clint.)

Clint keeps his own things put away neatly. When she leaves her belongings spread out over his territory, he lets it lie. They are the only two ever there, so it doesn’t matter. 

.

She does not think about it. 

.

“I am shocked, _shocked_ I tell you,” Stark prattles as he weaves his way through Clint’s front room. “The mess! The horror!” 

Everything is in its place; she and Clint could both get through it blindfolded. She ignores the sense of satisfaction she gets from surveying the realm: her books scattered across the floor besides the couch, four different iPods charging at the wall, cords tangled together; yesterday’s clothes on the back of the armchair and her cat curled up on the shirt; Clint’s dog, half-on and half-off his bed, toys spread haphazardly around; DVDs piled next to the bookcase; and Clint himself, half asleep with his head on her lap as she reads the worst trashy romance she can find. Or, well, was reading, till Tony Stark barged his way in. 

She sighs, lowering the book. Clint stares up at her, resignedly. “What are you doin’ here, Stark?” he mumbles. 

“Inviting you to the clubhouse!” Stark announces, presenting them with two embossed invitations. “We’ve already got a Hulk, and I think two master assassins are just what we need.” 

“No,” Natasha says, raising her book. 

“No?” Stark repeats. “ _No_?” 

“Shall I say it in Latin?” she asks. Clint snickers. 

Clint’s dog finally realizes there’s a stranger and lunges to his feet with a howl. Of course, that wakes the cat, who hisses and flees to the bedroom. 

This time, it’s Clint who sighs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: figures dancing gracefully across my memory  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: pre-canon through post-Avengers; implied bad things happening to children   
> Pairings: Natasha/Clint  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 345  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: MCU, Clint/Natasha, he doesn't have a clue where the SHIELD rumor came from that Natasha didn't have a lot of personal stuff she didn't use for work because moving her in to his place has just proved that rumor ludicrously wrong

Clint keeps everything in its place because that's the easiest way to keep track of things. He's lost or left behind too many things over the years to take any of it for granted. 

For some reason, though, everyone at SHIELD thinks he's messy. Maybe it's because he dresses comfortably when not on the job, or because his tiny little postage-stamp of a room is packed to exploding with stuff? Whatever. It's not like he actually lives there. And anything he keeps on-site is disposable, anyway.

Clint Barton is a nice guy but he doesn't trust anyone. He learned that the hard way. 

.

Until Natasha. 

.

He could have killed her from a mile away. She can kill him any time he steps into reach. 

He brings her home, offers a dozen sound reasons for her continued survival, and plans how to save her and go to ground if Coulson, then Fury, then Fury's bosses decide to put her down. 

.

Natasha has no belongings beyond her weapons. It’s not like Clint has much more than that himself, but she – well. He sees things that remind him of her, that he thinks she’d like, and he picks it up and brings it home. She always smiles a little confusedly and examines the thing or reads it or listens to it, and it’s just… Clint wishes he could go back in time and kill everyone who ever contributed to that adorable frown on her face as she looks at the spider full-body puppet. 

“What is it?” she asks. 

“It’s a toy,” he says. 

.

Slowly, Natasha’s things migrate to Clint’s safehouse. SHIELD doesn’t know about it because he trusts Natasha but nobody else. (And a lot of them would call that stupid, but whatever. He knows people. He’s learned the hard way.) 

Clint gets a dog that’s as hard-worn as he is. Natasha comes home with a stray cat. 

The safehouse is _home_ in a way nothing else ever has been. 

.

Clint’s things still have their places. Natasha gleefully spreads her out in a mess. 

He understands and never complains.


End file.
